To Be A Lady
by LaurenAblaze
Summary: Chandra Nalaar, a young Planeswalker with a fiery attitude, must curb her wild behavior in order to attend a ball to celebrate the installation of a new leader on the Plane of Regatha. There's just one small problem: Most of the guests are out for her head after she caused the death of their previous leader! Will she be able to pull this off, for the sake of the monastery?
1. Chapter 1

Mother Luti sat primly on a stone bench, surrounded by a semicircle of young boys watching her every move attentively. The air was warm, with a soft breeze that rustled the leaves and lightly tousled the hair of the six boys seated in the grass. The slate-gray stone walls of the monastery rose up from behind the fragrant flower bushes of the garden, creating a safe, comfortable environment in which to learn.

"And this," Luti said, raising her hand, palm up, to reveal a tiny flame, "is your first step to summoning an ash elemental. Can anybody tell me the difference between an ash elemental and a flame elemental?"

One of the boys, who looked significantly younger than the rest, raised his hand eagerly, waving it to-and-fro. Before Mother Luti could respond, however, the wooden gates to the garden swung open violently, crashing against the walls and clattering loudly to the ground. Calm as always, Luti closed her hand, dismissing the flame, and tucked a stray strand of white hair behind her ear.

A young girl in her early twenties marched through the entrance, glowering at a group of startled monks who had been gliding around the garden paths, meditating. Her red-blonde hair whipped behind her as if by a strong gust of wind, the ends faintly glowing orange. Her face was smeared with soot, as were the once-silver pauldrons that crookedly sat on her shoulders. Her skirt, a deep red, was torn at the edges and, like the pauldrons, was filthy with dirt and ash.

Mother Luti slowly rose to greet the girl, effectively blocking her entrance to the massive stone building behind them.

"Chandra," Luti said kindly, though her eyes were blazing dangerously. "You do realize that the monks now have to fix that gate you so utterly blasted off its hinges?"

The girl turned to look at the group of monks, who were now surrounding the gate and murmuring amongst themselves. She chuckled, an arrogant smirk playing along the edges of her mouth.

"Good. It'll give them something _productive_ to do for once in their lives," she replied, rubbing absently at a smear of soot on her silver bracer.

"Chandra, what the monks do with their day is none of your concern," Luti began, glancing from Chandra to the group of boys. "Your lessons are done early today, I suppose," she sighed, calling to them. The boys hopped up from the ground, cheering, and ran into the looming building behind Chandra and Mother Luti.

Luti watched them go, then turned to Chandra, any semblance of warmth gone. "Where have you _been_, Chandra? And why on earth did you come back here? You _know_ the consequences of that, of coming back after what you did," she scolded in a low, hissing voice. Chandra yawned, stretching her arms up to the sky.

"Maybe we could talk about it after I get a bath or something," Chandra said, swiping a hand across her eyes, smearing more soot onto her face. "It's been a long couple weeks – "

"A couple _months_. You've been gone for four months. Not long enough for the oufes to forget!" Luti corrected, raising her voice slightly. "The council _still_ agreed you can't be on this Plane! The city is in _ruins_ after your little tryst with Jura –"

"_You're_ the one who turned me over to them," Chandra interrupted pointedly. "I didn't survive a manaless Plane run by an insane vampire lord and the entire army of Kephalai just to be taken out by a guy named _Walbert_, for the gods' sakes!"

Mother Luti sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Go ahead and take your bath, Ms. Nalaar. We have much to discuss, and I'd rather not do so in the publicity of the gardens."

Chandra grinned and patted Luti on the shoulder. "I missed you too, Mother Luti," she said, and sauntered into the large double doors of the monastery.

There was a crash from inside, followed by the sound of shattering clay and a startled, "Oops!" from the girl. Mother Luti took a deep breath and shook her head. "Oh, Chandra," she said to herself, turning to watch the monks working on the broken gates. "What am I going to do with you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chandra heaved a heavy sigh as she shed layer upon layer of her filthy armor. The pauldrons, bracers, and knee-caps all clattered to the ground as she carelessly unstrapped each one without slowing her pace. The once-red leather breast plate came off easily, slick with sweat from months of wear. She stretched her arms to the ceiling and smiled wide like a cat, not used to having her limbs free from the perpetual weight of her armor.

The chainmail hit the ground with a satisfying crunch of metal on metal, the last of the armor gone, and she stepped daintily into a natural stone basin filled with steaming, hot water. The room glowed faintly with the red of the coals used to heat the water, combined with the single flaming torch hanging from a rusty sconce on the wall. Chandra's favorite part of the monastery was the old caves carved out underneath the mountain hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. They had a safe, comfortable atmosphere to them; they made her feel invincible, moreso even than the pounds and pounds of armor she was rarely caught without.

She sank down deep into the water, feeling it lap against her bare shoulders. The steam caressed her filthy face, and she ran her fingers through her snarled hair, attempting to at least pick out the clumps of leaves and dirt that had made their homes in it.

"At this rate, I'm going to have to chop it all off," she muttered to herself, wincing as her fingers caught another tangle.

Giving up on the impossible task, she took a deep breath and submerged herself in the water. She slowly opened her eyes, which stung slightly from the water. She could see the red glow of the surface above, rippling from her movements. The rush of water filled her ears, creating a continuous white noise that blocked any other sounds.

She allowed her thoughts to carry her to the past few weeks (_No, months_, she corrected herself) she'd been gone. Zendikar, the Eye of Ugin, the streets of Ravnica, the secrets she'd learned, the people she'd seen. . . She emerged from the water with a gasp. She swiped her hands over her face, clearing her eyes.

She quickly glanced around the room, and started when she saw Mother Luti, calmly sitting at the far end of the basin, bare feet in the water.

"Mother Luti," she breathed, hand on her chest. "You startled me." Mother Luti nodded slowly, taking in the girl she had raised.

"You've been gone a long while, Chandra," she said softly. "Care to tell me where you've been? And why you found it appropriate to return here?" She folded her hands in her lap and watched Chandra expectantly.

"I've been . . . busy," Chandra began, eyes narrowing in thought. "There was this Plane, and these awful _beasts_ on it, and – "

"Please don't tell me _you're_ the one who released them," Mother Luti interrupted, eyeing Chandra suspiciously. Trouble was known to follow the girl wherever she went, no matter what Plane she was on.

"No! Well, maybe. . . I'm not sure," Chandra said, looking down. She absently traced patterns in the water with her finger. She suddenly looked up, eyes bright. "I saw the mind mage again, Mother. The one who stole the scroll. He was there, too." Mother Luti remained still, waiting for the girl to continue.

"He was looking for the Eye, too. Neither of us knew exactly what it was, but then there was this dragon, and – Oh! The _mana_ on that Plane was _wild!_ Uncontrollable! I've never experienced anything like it!" Chandra was sitting up straight, now, and her speech was more animated.

"We had to fight it! The dragon, I mean. But the mind mage, well, he was completely useless against it. Lucky for him, _I_ was there, you know, and I _blasted it_! I don't know if I killed it, but man. I definitely did some damage." Chandra sighed, looking up to the ceiling at the memory.

"And then what happened?" Mother Luti prompted, noticing the girl trailing off.

"I left the Plane. You know, people didn't really like me releasing a giant dragon – I mean, people were trying to kill me _before_ I even _reached_ the dragon, so I figured sticking around wouldn't be too smart. So, I went to Ravnica. I've told you about Ravnica. Something fishy's going on there, let me tell ya. There's something . . . Off, about it. And the mind mage was there! Again! I swear, he's following me – "

"Did he follow you here?" Mother Luti asked, a note of urgency in her voice.

"No – I mean, I don't know. Probably not . . . I'm not sure, though," Chandra stammered, brow furrowing.

Mother Luti shook her head in disappointment. "Chandra, you _need_ to be more careful about what you bring back here. This monastery, we're not all able to up and leave the Plane if something bad happens. We're stuck here and –"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Chandra interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "We're stuck here and if the monastery is in danger, we're _all_ in danger. I know."

"Well, clearly you don't! You unleashed a dragon on another Plane, left that with a mind mage on your tail, went to _another_ Plane with the mind mage _still_ on your tail –"

"Relax, Mother. I'm twenty-two years old, you know. I'm not a baby. I didn't come here for a lecture," Chandra said, rolling her eyes.

"If you want to be treated like a responsible adult, you need to act like it," Luti scolded. "Now come here, and let me take care of that hair of yours."

Mother Luti produced a hairbrush from the folds of her robe while Chandra glided through the water to meet her. She leaned against the stone next to Mother Luti, who roughly ran the brush through her hair, yanking through each tangle with a strength that belied her age.

"Ouch! Watch it, you're _brushing_ it, not tearing it out!" Chandra protested, hands pressed against the top of her head.

"Call it a lesson on recklessness, Miss Nalaar," Mother Luti said, a smug smile playing at the corners of her lips. "As you know, every action has consequences. And when you allow your hair to fly wild in the wind, then you're eventually going to find tangles." Chandra crossed her arms in a melodramatic pout.

"That has a double meaning, doesn't it?" She asked bitterly, making a face.

"Perhaps," Mother Luti answered, knowing Chandra's dislike of cryptic sayings. "Or maybe you just need to take better care of your hair."

"I take care of my hair jus-OUCH! Okay, you did _definitely_ that one on purpose!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chandra lay back on her bed, hands behind her head, watching the ceiling. It had been months since she'd been able to just relax, just sleep. She was always on the run, or on the lookout, or on a _rock_. The monastery wasn't built for luxury either, but at that moment she might as well have been in a queen's chambers. Her room was traditionally Spartan: stone walls, a single straw bed, a narrow wooden wardrobe, and a looking glass hanging on the wall.

Chandra's chambers differed from the monks', though, in that there were various black scorch marks along the walls and ceiling. Of all the lessons taught by Mother Luti, self-control was one that Chandra had never quite mastered. When her temper flared, so did the walls. And her pillow. And anything else that might be remotely flammable.

There was a soft knock at the door. Chandra closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, choosing not to answer.

_Just when I'm getting comfortable_, she thought irritably to herself. There was another knock, this one slightly louder.

"I'm _sleeping_!" She yelled, opening her eyes to glare at the door. There was a third knock. In a flash, Chandra had grabbed her pillow and heaved it against the door. It hit with a soft thud then slid to the ground.

"Chandra?" Upon hearing the timid voice outside her door, Chandra leapt up and rushed across the room. She flung it open, revealing a small, nine or ten-year-old boy with spikey red hair and olive skin. He had a dirty brown bag hanging at his side, the strap slung across his chest and pinned at his shoulder to shorten it. The bag still slightly brushed the ground.

"Brannon!" She said, scooping him up into a tight hug. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Ugh—you're—crushing me!" He growled, his voice muffled against her cloth vest. She put him down and grinned lopsidedly at him, ruffling his hair.

"How have you been, kid? It's been a while," she said.

"Okay, I guess. Bored, for sure," he said, smoothing down his hair and glaring at her. "Where have _you_ been?"

"Don't sound so accusatory, kid," she replied reproachfully. "You know, I've been here and there. Fighting dragons, discovering ancient ruins. . . you know, the usual." Her eyes shone playfully.

"That's a lie!" He said, jabbing a finger into her stomach. "There are no dragons here! Mother Luti promised!"

In response, Chandra simply winked. Brannon crossed his arms, making a face at the girl. She stuck out her tongue, which broke the boy's sour mood and made him giggle.

"So, what took ya so long to find me, kid?" She asked, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt.

"I'm at work!" Brandon answered, drawing himself up proudly. He patted the sack, and Chandra raised her eyebrows in question. "I'm delivering letters," he said cheerfully, and began digging through the bag. He finally pulled out a white scroll, sealed with a wax symbol of a golden sun and tied daintily with a light blue ribbon. Chandra cocked an eyebrow and held out her hand authoritatively.

"It's from Zinara," Brannon breathed in wonder, examining it. He had never been outside the walls, and the capital city of Regatha mesmerized the boy. "What would somebody in _Zinara_ want from _you_?"

"That's for me to know and you to not find out," Chandra said impatiently. "Now hand me that letter and do your job, will ya?"

"Fine, here's your stupid letter," the boy grumbled, reluctantly handing it over. Chandra sighed, feeling slightly guilty about being so impatient with him.

"Hold on one second," she said, holding up a finger. She went to the foot of the bed and glanced back at Brannon.

"Close your eyes," she commanded. The boy obeyed, and Chandra lifted up the mattress and grabbed a red drawstring sack from underneath. She opened it up and pulled out a single gold coin. She held it up to the light, turning it to and fro.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Brannon complained. Chandra quickly put the bag back and let the mattress down softly.

"Yeah, yeah, open them up," she said, walking over to him. Brannon looked around, confused.

"I don't see anything. . ." He said, craning his neck to look behind her.

"Hold out your hand," she said, enjoying his confusion. "Go on, I'm not going to burn it." Brannon reluctantly held out his hand, a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't get-" he began, as Chandra gently pressed the gold coin into his palm. His face lit up.

"For being such a good delivery boy," she said, a fond smile on her face.

"_Cool!_" The boy yelled, hopping from foot to foot. "Wait until the other kids see this! Oh, man, Kellen will be _so_ jealous and – oh, er, thanks. . . Can I go now?" He said, remembering Chandra was still there.

"Get outta here," she said, lightly shoving his shoulder. "And don't spend it all in one place!" Brannon was already halfway down the hall.

"I won't spend it _ever_!" He called back. Chandra chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm and closed the door. She turned to face her room, back against the door, and glanced down at the scroll in her hand.

_What on earth could this be_? She thought to herself. She turned it back and forth in her hands, examining each inch of it. She gently slid the blue ribbon off and walked over to her bed without looking up. She plopped down and dropped the ribbon next to her.

Using her thumbnail, she broke the golden seal and smoothed open the scroll on the bed, holding down the top and bottom with each hand.

It was written in large, neat cursive in black ink. The size of the text belied the content, however; the letter was short and concise. Chandra leaned forward to read.

_Miss Chandra Nalaar,_

_It is my pleasure to cordially invite you to the installation of our new and esteemed leader, Darius Orovis. The ceremony will take place in the feast hall of the grand palace of Zinara. This is a formal event – formal attire is required. Weapons will not be permitted. The ball will immediately follow the ceremony in the palace ballroom. Any use of magic will result in immediate expulsion from the event and incarceration. We hope to see you on the morrow at noon. _

_-Wallace Tetrad, Official scribe of the city of Zinara, Capital of Regatha_

Chandra read the letter twice more before the words sank in.

"Why in the elder gods' names would they invite _me _to this?" She asked aloud. She picked up the scroll to roll it back up, when she noticed a smaller slip of paper flutter to the ground.

She scooped it up and examined it. There was another letter, this one even shorter than the first, written in bold, block writing.

**Chandra,**

** You're representing Keral Keep in this. They still blame the Pyromancers for what happened to Walbert. This is your chance to fix things.**

** Don't mess this up.**

** -G.**

Chandra dropped the letter, eyes wide. It floated under the bed.

_G. . .Gideon? No, he can't know I'm here. That's not possible._She thought to herself. She still remembered their last parting vividly, how he'd betrayed her, her open threat, the way his eyes shone, the set of his mouth. . . She shook her head to clear the thoughts from her mind and ran a hand through her hair, which was now soft and silky after Mother Luti's attack on it.

"Mother Luti. She'll know what's up with this," she realized, and stood up, grabbing the first letter. She then hurried out the door, leaving the smaller letter in the spot where it had fallen underneath her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh, my," Mother Luti murmured after reading the letter. "Chandra, you do realize they've chosen you to represent Keral Keep in this?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Chandra responded irritably, annoyed that Mother Luti had said the same thing as Gideon. Her thoughts began to drift back to their parting, again, and how it made her feel. . . How her chest hurt, how her eyes stung for the first time in years, how –

"This isn't a nonchalant matter," Mother Luti scolded. "Your behavior at this event reflects upon us all. This is your chance to show that fire magic _isn't_ dangerous. Do you understand?"

"_Yes_," Chandra said. "Why don't you repeat how important it is a few times more? I don't think I understood the first ten times."

"_Chandra_," Luti said sternly. "Enough."

"But why _me?_ How did they even know I was _here_? I've been here a day and apparently the whole Plane of Regatha knows," she threw her arms up in the air in frustration. Mother Luti pinched the bridge of her nose, deep in thought.

"I don't know, Chandra," she sighed. "I don't know how any of these things happen. But I do know that you have only tonight to prepare for this. Tomorrow, you need to be up bright and early and on your way to the capital."

"And if I refuse to play their little game?" she spat.

"Well that would be your choice," Mother Luti patiently replied. "But perhaps you should think about the consequences of doing so before making that decision."

Chandra folded her arms and glowered. "This isn't fair," she finally said. "It's like they chose me just to watch me fail."

"Then it's up to _you_ to prove them wrong," Mother Luti said, putting a hand on Chandra's shoulder.

Chandra bit her lower lip and thought back to Gideon's letter to her. _He_ believed she could do it, so why shouldn't she?

"I don't even have a dress," she said, gesturing to the old, red robes she was wearing. "The nicest things I own are my armor. Armor can be formal, right?"

"No, Chandra, armor can not be formal," Mother Luti said, exasperated. "Perhaps you could do some shopping before the ceremony?"

"No, nope, definitely not," Chandra replied, shaking her head. "I'm not getting up early just to go dress shopping. I came here to get _away_ from adventure, not start another."

"Chandra," Mother Luti said. "Adventure will follow you _wherever _you go. It's in your blood, in your soul. It's as much a part of you as your Spark."

"But-"

"If you choose to do this, you need to do it right. I'd rather you not attend at all than show up looking like a ragamuffin."

"A what-a-muffin?" Chandra cocked an eyebrow.

"Nevermind," Mother Luti sighed. "The point is, you need to look your best. You're now representing me and my people. This is a big deal for us, Chandra. This is our chance to be redeemed, so that we can actually _use_ our magic freely again the way we used to." Mother Luti put her hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "I mean no disrespect when I say this, Chandra, but please don't mess this up."

"Why does everyone think I'm going to mess up?!" Chandra asked, standing up. The ends of her hair began to glow a bright orange and her eyes blazed. "I'll show you. I'll show you that I can do this just fine – no_, better_ than anyone else could. You'll see!" She yelled, storming out of Mother Luti's study.

"Let's hope so," Mother Luti said to herself, turning back to her books. "For all our sakes."


	5. Chapter 5

She dreamed of Diraden again. She was in the castle, looking out onto the courtyard from the high, stained glass window. He was chained in the center, covered in bites and blood and dirt and who knows what else. He was slumped down in defeat; his face was shrouded by his long, brown hair, now stringy and filthy.

It was just the two of them. No Prince Velrav, no vampires, no shades. . . Just her watching him, helpless, unable to aid him in any way.

"Chandra," he murmured. Despite his quiet tone, his voice somehow carried up to her through the window.

"Gideon!" She called down, waving her arms and jumping up and down. "I'm up here! Gideon!"

"Chandra," he said again, just as low. He still didn't look up.

"I'll help you! I'm trying to help you! Look, look, I'm up here!" she continued frenetically.

"Chandra?" This time louder. She turned around to find an exit, but was met with a solid stone wall. She began to kick and punch at the window, which yielded to her like rubber, molding back into place after each strike.

"Argh! I'm coming, I can help you!" she yelled in frustration.

"_CHANDRA_!" This time it was a roar. She cried out and covered her ears in pain. Gideon looked up, his hair falling away, to reveal his face; but it wasn't his face. He was pale, deathly pale, with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes that were dull obsidian black. His mouth was open in a silent scream, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth.

She screamed, and shot up out of bed. Her eyes frantically darted around the room. Soft, early-morning light filtered through the single opening in her room that served as a window. Brannon stood next to her bed, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Chandra, are you alright?!" He asked, shaking her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine kid," she sighed, rubbing her head. "What's the news?"

"You, uh, need to get up," he said, clearly still shaken up. "Mother Luti sent me. . . You get to ride to Zinara today!"

"Yeah, 'get to.' Right," she repeated groggily, blinking sleep out of her eyes.

"Well, hurry up then! She said you have to pick up a _dress_," he said, screwing up his face and spitting out the word dress. "You're not _really_ gonna wear some ugly fancy dress, are you, Chandra?"

"No, kiddo," she said reassuringly. "I wouldn't be caught dead in one of those."

"That's what I told her! Er, Mother Luti, I mean. She just ignored me and sent me away! I knew you'd never do that. You're not some lame prissy lady, not you."

"Nope, not me," Chandra chuckled, moving to seat herself at the edge of her bed. "Okay, you need to get outta here, kid. I'll meet you in the courtyard, alright?"

"Okay!" he said cheerfully, and darted out of her room. _How on _earth_ does that kid have so much energy this early in the morning?_ She thought to herself, shaking her head and smiling fondly. She stood up, stretched, then made her way to her wardrobe. Flinging it open, her smile fell. She knew she was going to be changing anyway; however, wearing her full plate armor and chainmail felt a bit excessive.

_There's no way in _hell_ I'm lugging all that stuff around while also wearing a _dress_, _she thought stubbornly.

There wasn't much else in the sparse wardrobe for her to choose from – a nightgown, her armor, her leather chest piece and matching skirt, a torn monk's robe, and, shoved into the far corner, the dress in which she'd shown up to the monastery for the first time. The dress from _home_. It was a pale pink with deep red trim. It was torn at the bottom in places where she'd tripped over it, and it was still filthy from the last time she had worn it. . .

_Kneeling in the dirt, hands limp at her sides. The soldiers, their yells, their _screams_, the crackle of the fire, the whoosh of the blade swinging down towards her neck, the sudden roar of _something_ in her ears, waking up floating and confused and –_

She blinked rapidly a few times and clenched her jaw. _Nope, definitely not _that_ dress_.

She settled upon the red monk's robes: a red pair of cloth pants trimmed with burnt orange, a matching sleeveless vest, cloth slippers in the same burnt orange as the trim, and red leather bracers. Simple, easy to get in and out of, and easy to cart around once she'd purchased her dress.

She walked over to the mirror and examined her reflection. She rarely paid heed to her appearance—more often than not, she was disheveled and dirty. She didn't need to look at her reflection to be reminded of _that._ Now, though, her long, strawberry hair was silky and smooth, even after her restless sleep. Leaning in closer, she noticed with surprise that her eyes were a vibrant amber flecked with red-brown on the edges—something she'd never paid attention to before. She lifted her hand and ran it down her cheeks, feeling the soft, white skin.

_I _am_ beautiful, _she thought, raising an eyebrow in approval. _Who'd have thought? _ She hastily tied her hair up and out of her face with a leather strap, though there were a few stubborn pieces that kept falling back into her eyes.

"Fine, be that way," she said aloud, pushing the pieces behind her ears. With that, she reached under the mattress, grabbed the red pouch of gold coins, and headed out to the courtyard to meet Mother Luti and Brannon.

_Today is _not_ going to be fun_.


	6. Chapter 6

Mother Luti and Brannon were standing together in the center of the courtyard. Mother Luti was bundled up in a white fur wrap to ward off the chilly morning air. The sun had still yet to fully rise, and the dim light bathed everything in muted color. She held the bridle of a pale grey horse, which nickered and pawed the ground at Chandra's approach.

"Good morning, Chandra," Mother Luti said pleasantly. "Are you prepared for your journey today?"

"No," Chandra replied crossly. "But I'll do it anyway."

"You'll be fine," Mother Luti said, ignoring Chandra's attitude. "But you must be on your way, otherwise you won't have time to purchase formal attire. At least, I hope you don't intend on wearing _that_ to the ceremony."

Chandra looked down and tugged at the cloth of the pants. "What's wrong with them?" she muttered. "They look fine to me."

"Chandra."

"I know, I know, I picked them out because they'd be easier to carry around once I buy my dress. Jeez, have some faith, woman."

"Chandra!"

"I'm sorry, Mother. That was out of line," Chandra said, looking at her feet in contrition.

"It's quite alright. Now Brannon here has prepared a mount for you –"

"I put on his bridle and saddle and brushed him and _everything!_" Brannon interjected.

"Indeed you did," Mother Luti said, smiling down at him.

"Mother Luti," Chandra began, brow furrowed in consternation. "You're making me go to this. You're making me  
wear a dress. Now you're making me take everyday, boring old transportation? A horse? Really?"

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Mother Luti asked, raising an eyebrow. "The horse is all we have, and it should be an honor to ride him –"

Chandra, however, had something else in mind. She put her fingers to her lips and let out a shrill whistle. Her eyes flashed first orange, then yellow, and the ends of her hair began to flicker red and yellow. She crouched down, spreading her fingers flat just above the grass, and her hands burst into flame. Then, she rapidly stood and thrust her hands into the air, palms still up, feet planted firmly on the ground. Two pillars of flame shot into the sky and exploded in a dull roar into a ball of sparks and fire.

Out of the ball rose a large, bird-like creature. Its feathers fluttered and glowed like the flames that produced it in vibrant orange and yellows as it spread its wings and let out a shrill, echoing screech. Mother Luti and Brannon scrambled to the safety of the main building of the monastery as the bird swooped down and landed with a rustle of grass in front of Chandra. The grey horse neighed and reared in a panic, and took off galloping down one of the garden paths.

The bird craned its neck to examine Chandra with one massive, red eye. She confidently reached up a hand and patted the feathers between its eyes. The bird chirped and tilted its head, its beak snapping together with a click.

"Chandra Nalaar you put that thing back from whence you pulled it _this instant_," Mother Luti commanded, marching across the courtyard to the bird and its master.

"But Mother, he's harmless. . . for the most part," Chandra said, looking fondly at the creature. Brannon sprinted towards them, eyes wide.

"_WOW!_ I've never seen any of the monks summon something like _that!"_ He exclaimed, stopping a safe distance from the bird in order to properly admire it from afar.

"Chandra, you're supposed to _blend in_. To show the denizens of this Plane that fire mages are sane, _rational_, magic users, and flying in on a flaming _phoenix_ is _not_ the way to do that! And Brannon, get _away_ from that thing!" Brannon had tentatively approached the bird and was slowly reaching his hand out to touch its tail. Mother Luti blinked rapidly a few times, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and took a deep breath to steady herself. "Please, just go inside, Brannon," she breathed in frustration.

"Aww, man!" The boy folded his arms and dragged himself back to the doors of the building, pouting all the way.

"But I'll let him go once I get to the city. . . And, and flying is so much faster than horseback! No traffic, you know. I'm just trying to be _punctual_, like a _responsible_ adult!" Chandra pleaded, folding her hands and jutting out her lower lip.

"They specifically said no magic, Chandra," Mother Luti said, "And a giant fire-bird is not native to this Plane!"

"Well actually, they said no magic at the _ceremony_," Chandra corrected, putting up a finger. "I'd just fly into the city on him, do my thing, and send him on his merry way. Is that so bad?"

Mother Luti sighed and looked up to the sky as if searching for help. "Fine. You can take him into the city. But if I catch word that a giant bird is ravishing the city-"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Chandra grinned from ear to ear, and limberly hopped onto the bird's back. It chirped and shifted from foot to foot in response to the new weight.

"_Please_ be careful, Chandra," Mother Luti said. "You _know_ how important this is. For the monastery, for Regatha, for _you._ Oh, and here." Mother Luti pulled a small handful of gold coins out of one of the pockets of her robe. "I know you'd hate to spend your own money on a dress, and, well, the monks really appreciate what you're doing, despite how often they complain about you –"

"They complain about me?" Chandra raised an eyebrow and crooked her mouth.

"Don't act so surprised, Ms. Nalaar. But that's beside the point. We pooled money together and came up with this. Spend it wisely. And maybe, just maybe, you could actually have some fun at this. It _is_ a celebration, after all," Mother Luti said, winking. "Now get on your way. You don't want to be _late."_

Chandra smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Mother Luti," she said softly. Then, she lightly kicked the sides of the phoenix, which leapt into the air with a screech.

They rose slowly at first, then rapidly began to gain altitude. Mother Luti was barely a speck beneath them, and the entire mountainside fortress that was the monastery looked like a dollhouse from so high up.

The entirety of Regatha spread out before them like patchwork: crop farms, tree farms, forests, mountains, all in patches of different colors.

"Whoa," Chandra breathed, taking it all in with wide eyes. She spread out her arms and let the air rush by, caressing her body and face. Her eyes stung from the wind, but it wasn't unbearable. She reached her hands up to pull her goggles over her eyes, only to remember that she'd left that at the monastery. Suddenly, her head felt naked.

Within ten minutes they loomed over the sprawling city of Zinara. To the Regathans, Zinara was the largest city they would ever lay eyes upon. However, Chandra had seen cities hundreds of times larger on other Planes, such as Ravnica. Still, its white marble buildings and fountains were beautiful in an ancient way.

"Let's see what you can do," she said, leaning in by the phoenix's face. It squawked in reply, then tilted down into a steep dive towards the city. The air whooshed past Chandra's face, and she felt herself slipping forward on the bird's back. She dug her hands deeper into its feathers, and couldn't help but let out a whoop of excitement at the rush of adrenaline.

At the last second, the bird pulled up short, and Chandra was very nearly flung to the ground. They had stopped in one of the courtyards of the city, neatly lined with well-manicured grass and bushes.

The phoenix landed with a thud, and Chandra gracefully leapt off its back and flexed her fingers. "We're gonna have to work on that landing. . . and a way for me to _stay on_," she said, looking at the bird. It tilted its head in response and clicked its beak.

Finally noting her surroundings, Chandra saw that they had gathered a small crowd.

"What? You people act like you've never seen a mount before. Jeez," she said, spreading out her arms and shooting a glare at a couple men who were staring at her with disapproving looks.

At that, the crowd began to disperse, all talking in hushed tones amongst themselves about the interesting character that had literally flown into their midst.

"There's no point in being all quiet about it! I _know_ you're talking about me!" she called after them, annoyed. She turned back to the phoenix, who was still loyally standing where they'd landed. "You're good to go now, buddy. Thanks."

The phoenix nodded its head, shuddered, and exploded in a flurry of feathers and smoke. The grass was charred black where it had been standing.

"And now, off to make myself a 'proper lady.' _Fun,_" she said, then hopped over one of the hedges and onto the cobbled streets, ready to begin her adventure.


	7. Chapter 7

"That is _way_ too tight!" Chandra protested, attempting to turn around and glare at the tailor behind her, but failing miserably. She settled for shooting him dirty looks through the mirror. "Are you tuh-rying to _kill_ me?!"

"It's how a corset _works,_ _m'lady_," the tailor replied, trying and failing to mask his annoyance. He was a short man, with tiny round spectacles and thin gray hair. He was dressed in a vibrant purple coat with matching trousers. His white socks were pulled over his pants, and his black shoes shone spotlessly. "Haven't you worn a dress before?"

Chandra crossed her arms and chose not to dignify him with a response. She stood on a tiny, three-legged stool facing a full-length mirror. The cramped little shop smelled of fresh fabric and old wood. The sound of a sewing machine clacked in the back room that branched off behind the mirror. The walls were lined with hundreds of dresses, in all different colors.

The one Chandra was trying on was a cerulean blue with white lace. The skirts puffed out at her hips, encircling her in a three-foot diameter fortress of fabric. She hated it, and had let the tailor know, however he insisted that it would look simply _gorgeous_ against her red hair.

He finally finished lacing up the top and patted her back in satisfaction.

"Like I said, absolutely gorgeous," he gushed, standing behind her and gazing at her reflection in the mirror. "It makes your hair just _glow."_

"I hate it," Chandra said frankly, crossing her arms and scowling. It reminded her of Jace, that mind mage, and those blue robes he always wore.

"But- you look so –"

"Nope. My money, my choice. Get it off me," she said flatly. The tailor obeyed, grumbling something about "ignorance" and "high fashion" the entire time.

Wearing only her white shift, Chandra again perused the racks, looking for a dress that would be at least tolerable.

"M'lady, I have a few other dresses that _I_ think you'd look simply _wonderful _in," the tailor began.

"No, this time _I _want to pick it out. I want something. . . practical," she said, turning around to face the tailor. "Got anything I can fight in?"

"Practical? _Fight in?_" The man scoffed. "My lady, what could you possibly be doing wearing a dress and _fighting?!"_

"Jeez, you act like I just insulted your mother," Chandra muttered.

"Come again?"

"I said, do you have anything in red?"

"Oh. . . red is such an _immodest_ color, my lady. I certainly don't have much in _that_."

"Oh, just show me what you have, then and stop bumbling around with your words and suggestions and stuff," Chandra said, waving a hand and losing patience.

"Fine," the tailor sniffed, primly and confidently pulling down three dresses from various places amongst the racks.

He held up the first, which was just as puffy and wide as the first. It was vibrant red-orange in color, and was trimmed with black.

"How about _this?_" He asked, curling his lip at it in disgust.

"No, too bright. And too much orange," Chandra answered, making a pushing motion with her hand. "Next."

The tailor sighed and picked up the second dress, which was burgundy, with deep red trim that bled softly into the darker fabric. The straps, also in the deep red, rested on her upper arms, and the fabric of the skirt was ruffled with layers. The front hem of the skirt dipped up from the back, creating an incongruity that Chandra was immediately drawn to.

"That one. I want to try that one on," she said immediately, pointing to it and nodding for emphasis.

The tailor wordlessly obeyed, though he tightened the strings of the corset with slightly more force than necessary. He peered around her back, and raised his eyebrows in surprised satisfaction.

Chandra looked radiant. The burgundy contrasted with her hair, making it look lighter and smoother. The dipped hem of the skirt showed off her legs, which she moved to-and-fro, happy that she was not constricted by yards and yards of fabric.

The tailor pulled the leather thong out of her hair, and it cascaded down her back and over her shoulders.

"No, no, that simply will not do," the tailor murmured, clicking his tongue.

"What? No, I like it. It. . . it looks good," Chandra said, confused.

"Not the dress," he said, shaking his head. "Those shoes. They don't match at _all._ I have _just _the solution!"

"Solution? This isn't a math problem," Chandra said, but the tailor had darted to the back room. Chandra heard some rustling and rifling over the click of the sewing machine, and finally he emerged, proudly carrying a pair of boots.

The boots were the same dark red as the trim of the dress. They had a slight heel, and black laces up the front. Chandra's face lit up.

"I like 'em!" She exclaimed. "Oh man, imagine kicking someone in the _face_ with those heels!"

"Er, right. . . Here, sit, sit," the tailor said, gesturing to a wooden chair next to the desk. Chandra plopped down in it, and made a face when she realized the corset of the dress prevented her from slouching. She could have sworn the tailor had a smug smirk on his face.

She slid her foot into each boot, and the tailor laced them up for her. They went up to her knees, and she frowned when she realized the space between her knee and thigh would not be covered.

"Uh, do you have anything I can –"

"Stockings, yes, got it," the little man quipped, and again made his way into the back room. Chandra blinked in surprise.

"It's like he can read my mind or something . . ." she said, but before she could finish her thought the tailor had once again appeared in front of her.

"Take off the boots, come on now. Chop chop," he said, waving his hand impatiently.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Chandra grumbled, but did as she was told.

The tailor handed her the stockings one at a time. They were the same burgundy as the dress, and were made of a thick, woolen fabric. Chandra bent her leg back and forth a few times, then nodded, apparently satisfied with their mobility.

She put the boots back on, and turned to face the mirror. Even she had to admit that the dress was _her. _It was unique, it was in her colors, and she could actually _do stuff_ in it. She smiled faintly despite herself.

"Stunning, my lady, simply _stunning_," the tailor said, flitting about pulling at loose strings and pieces of lint on the dress Chandra wasn't even quite sure existed. "But you _must_ do something with that _hair,"_ he lamented, picking up a lock of her hair then dropping it limply onto her shoulder.

"What's _wrong_ with it?" Chandra asked crossly, making a face.

"It's all loose and messy. _Definitely_ not befitting a lady, _or_ my dress," he replied simply.

"Uh, I'm not sure if I have the _time_ to do—" she began, glancing out the window at the sun.

"Nonsense," he tutted, shaking his head. "A proper lady not only has elegant dresses, but also the elegant _hair._"

"Look, guy, I _really_ don't have time for this," she argued.

"But my lady," he pleaded. "You look so stunning in that dress, I'd _hate_ to see you not reach your full _beauty potential_."

"Beauty _what?_ You know what, whatever, fine. Will you let me go if I let you do my hair?" Chandra crossed her arms and looked the little man up and down.

"Certainly!" He said, clapping his hands and smiling widely.

The little man once again walked to the back room, this time coming out with a basket full of tiny combs with sharp, silver teeth.

"No, nu-uh, no way. You're _not_ putting those things anywhere near my head," Chandra protested. "You already cut off my breathing with this corset. You're _not_ going to make my scalp bleed on top of it all." She began to back away from him.

"Sit down and stay down," he commanded. "Such harsh words will sour your tongue, lady. They are not befitting of a dignified woman."

Chandra harrumphed back down into the chair and crossed her legs. The tailor moved behind her and began to pull her hair off her face and secure it with the combs tight against her scalp, piece by piece.

"That _hurts,_" Chandra said on more than one occasion, but the tailor refused to listen.

When all was said and done, the tailor gave up on fighting with her halfway through the procedure. The final product, however, was still pleasing. From her ears up, small strands of hair were draped up and into the combs, where it met in a twist behind her head. The bottom half of her hair cascaded over her shoulders midway down her back, where it shone in the dim light of the shop.

She spun a few times in front of the mirror, examining every inch of herself. She smiled despite herself in satisfaction.

"Wow," she said aloud. "I've gotta hand it to you, guy. You know what you're doing."

"Of course I do," he sniffed primly. "Now about your pay. . ."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I have that," she said, reaching into a pouch strapped to her thigh to produce the red satchel full of coins. She reached in, haphazardly grabbed a handful, and dropped it on his desk.

"No, no, no. Such carelessness will certainly muck up my records," he said, shaking his head and making his way behind the desk. He pushed the money back at her with one hand, keeping his body turned away from it as if it would contaminate him in some way.

"What?!" Chandra said, exasperated. "That is _more_ than enough for the dress, boots, stockings, hair styling, _and_ a generous tip! What's wrong with it?!"

"Too much, too much. I must make sure, for my _records_," he said with finality. At that, he began to slowly count the gold pieces, slowing sliding each individual piece from one end of the desk to the other. Chandra tapped her foot with impatience and glanced out the door.

"Look, I _really_ don't have time for –" she began again.

"Oh, now look here. You've made me lose count," he cried out in exasperation, theatrically pushing all the coins he had counted back into the larger pile. Chandra could have sworn she heard a note of amusement in his voice.

Chandra waited for five minutes longer, and the tailor was still only halfway done counting the coins. Her eyes darted to the door, and she took a few sliding steps in its direction, watching the tailor carefully. He remained caught up in his counting.

In one fluid motion, Chandra slipped out the door and into the street, breathing a sigh of relief to be free of that infernal tailor's shop.

Inside, at the sound of the door, the tailor looked up from his gold pieces and smiled smugly. He took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair, humming a tune to himself. His eyes glowed a beautiful cerulean blue.


	8. Chapter 8

Outside, the sun was slowly climbing towards its peak in a cloudless sky. The small buildings that composed the business quarter began to rise in height and become more elaborate –small wooden peaks became white marble spires, two-story shops turned into four-story mansions, and the various small vendor's carts that spattered the side of the street turned into a full-fledged marketplace.

Chandra took it all in with little shock—she'd been on other Planes with cities far more elaborate than this. However, what she _wasn't_ used to were the stares she was getting. She knew she was pretty, but her dirty appearance and preference for armor over hoop skirts often prevented people from looking twice at the girl.

Men and women alike now did double takes as she pushed her way through the crowded marketplace –women peering with envy at her elaborate clothing, men looking with a different type of envy at the way said clothing hugged her curves. While Zinara was not a poor city, the middle class was not used to such finery in their midst—the nobility of Regatha rarely deigned to grace the commoners with their presence.

No amount of fancy clothing could change Chandra's signature scowl as she battled with the horde of people also making their way to the ceremony. Many, most likely, didn't even have invites. However, they all were eager to catch just a glimpse of their new leader or hear a snippet of the ceremony. Such a ceremony hadn't taken place in many a year, and the people were eager to see what this new leader would be like.

Chandra began to wonder if she would see Gideon, which led her to thinking about why Gideon had invited _her_ in the first place, and, even more important, how he'd known she'd returned to Regatha so _soon_. A pit formed in her stomach as she thought back to their last meeting—Chandra's open threat, the sadness that flashed, ever so briefly, in Gideon's frustrated eyes, the clench in her heart at what she felt to be his betrayal. What would it be like if (no, when) they saw each other again? Would he be hostile? Contrite?

She was jarred from her thoughts as, suddenly, a firm hand grabbed Chandra's upper arm. With a yelp, she was pulled into the nearby alley she was passing. She whirled on her attacker, eyes blazing and tiny flames dancing between her fingertips, threatening to become an inferno the instant she willed it to be so.

She wilted when she took him in: tall, muscular. His face was unshaven, but trimmed neatly—not quite a beard, but more than a simple five-o'-clock shadow. His hair was still long; exactly _how_ long, Chandra wasn't sure, for it was pulled back into a ponytail by a pale blue ribbon. He stood tall and confident, wearing an azure jacket with coattails that was adorned with gold buttons running down each side of his chest. The jacket was trimmed with what appeared to be a pale gray with a strong yellow tint to it. His cravat was of the same color. His trousers were gray, and tucked neatly into a pair of knee-high boots, the same azure color as his jacket.

_Speak. Of. The. Devil. _She thought to herself in disbelief.

Gideon appeared to be taking her in as well, drinking in each detail of her clothing as she had done his. His eyebrows were raised in. . . What? Approval? _Attraction?_ Chandra shook the thoughts out of her head and managed to glare at him (which, admittedly, wasn't that difficult for her to do), jabbing a finger at his chest.

"_YOU_," she growled. "What do you think _you're_ doing here?! And why in Urza's name did you pull me down this _alley_ like some godsforsaken _thug_? I almost scorched your sorry ass, you know!" Gideon chuckled, not in the least unnerved by her outburst.

"Huh. The wardrobe's changed, but apparently the temper hasn't," he said with amusement. "I missed you, too, Chandra."

"What are you _doing_ here?" She said through clenched teeth. A split second later, her eyes widened in anger and she breathed in sharply. Her eyes flashed dangerously before she said, accusatorily, "You were _following_ me!"

"Yes," he said simply, expression blank.

"How _dare_ you?!" she spluttered, beginning to pace. "That's just. . . just . . . an _utter_ invasion of privacy! How _RUDE!_"

"Chandra –"

"And how did you even know I was _here_?"

"Well, I was the one who sent you the letter, who convinced the council that you would be the best person to represent—"

"That is _not_ what I meant and you _know_ it!" she jabbed her finger into his chest again. Gideon blinked, still unperturbed. "Why are you _here_ here?"

"That's not your concern," he said at length, watching her with cautious eyes. "What's important is that you're here, and that you decided to cooperate . . . as far as I know," he added, looking her up and down.

"It _is_ my concern when you're stalking my entire life! Why is it so important that _I'm_ here, anyway?"

Gideon sighed and crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, right, that's 'not my concern' either, apparently," she said in a scathingly sarcastic tone. "Okay, well, you've got me here. Happy? So just let me go on my merry way so I won't be _late_ to this blasted thing after all my hard work. I even got up _early_ for this," she finished, trying to push past him. He put up an arm to block her path.

"Perhaps I'm not _here_ here, in this alley," he began softly. "on any sort of business."

"Well then why bother?" she growled, still furious.

"I have something for you, actually," he said, drawing himself up. "A gift."

"Oh, how _sweet,_" she mocked, glaring. "What is it? Some cutesie little thing like jewelry or a hairpiece that I'll just _swoon_ over, so much so that I won't notice you enchanted it with some _obtrusive_ spell?!"

"No," he replied simply. "At least, it's not jewelry or a hairpiece." His mouth crooked into the faintest smile at one corner.

"But you're not denying the enchanted part?" she asked drily, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"I won't confirm or deny it," he answered elusively, clearly messing with her. She sighed heavily, staring him down.

"Well? I mean, I'm already here, and you _know_ I hate surprises," she said, holding out a hand.

"Oh, so now you want it?"

"Don't play games with me, Jura. You've tried my patience as it is."

"Huh, I hear that's pretty difficult to do."

"Shut up," she snapped.

"Close your eyes," he said, suddenly serious.

"Why? So you can bind and gag me?"

"Chandra."

"_Fine._" She said, closing her eyes. "But if I end up bound and gagged. . ."

She heard some rustling, and felt a hard, cloth-covered _something_ placed gently into her hand. She peeked one eye open the tiniest of cracks, caught a glimpse of the thing, which was red, then shut her eye again.

"Can I open my eyes now?" she whined, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Yes," Gideon said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She opened her eyes, and in her hand was a burgundy mask –covered in the same cloth of which her dress was composed. It was made to only cover her eyes and nose, leaving the bottom half of her face exposed. Silver tear-drop shaped beads hung from the bottom of the mask, dangling over her exposed cheeks. In the top right corner, there was an array of orange, red, and yellow feathers, all expertly layered and blended together to create the illusion of a flame. The feathers sprouted from underneath a glimmering ruby, a ruby that looked rather expensive considering its size and cut.

"It's. . . wow," she breathed, despite herself. Then she looked up, remembering that Gideon was there. "I mean, what? Am I that ugly that I need to cover my _face_ too?" Gideon smiled what was, by his standards, a big smile.

"I have a feeling Mother Luti didn't have time to tell you what, exactly, the tradition is for these things," he said.

"What? You go to the ceremony, then there's some fancy-schmancy ball afterwards where everyone eats, drinks, and is merry. All to celebrate the coming of yet _another_ stuck-up ass in a long _line_ of stuck-up asses."

"Well, not quite," Gideon replied. "The ball, it's not just any ball. It's a masquerade. Are you civilized to know what that is, wild child?" He asked, only half kidding.

"I resent that. Just because I've never heard of a mask-parade—" At that, Gideon actually broke out laughing. Chandra drew herself up in indignation. "Well _excuuuuse_ me, _princess. _Not all of us have been raised to be dainty little nobles," she spit.

"Calm down," Gideon said, raising his hands and attempting to revert back to his neutral façade. "A _masquerade_ is like a ball, but you're anonymous. You wear a mask to hide your face. If somebody guesses your identity. . . well, I guess nothing happens. But the point is that people shouldn't recognize you."

"Oh _joy_, I'm sure _nobody_ will guess who _I_ am," Chandra said, tilting her head sideways and looking at Gideon expectantly.

"Why that tone?" He asked, exasperated.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm one of the _few_ people on Regatha with red hair? That doesn't make me stick out like a sore thumb or anything," she said, annoyed. Chandra, as much as she despised silly things such as balls and parties, hated few things more. One of those things was, simply, losing. And having her identity guessed, to her, constituted a loss.

"It's more tradition than an actual thing nowadays," Gideon hedged, trying to calm her down. "Most people don't even try to guess—most people don't even _need_ to guess."

"Oh. . . So the only possible fun part of this night doesn't even happen?" she asked facetiously, making a face.

"If you want to put it like that, yes," Gideon answered, ever-patient.

"Well, that just _sucks_. Not that I was looking forward to tonight at all anyway," she said, glancing at the opening of the alley. A few seconds later, she said, "Listen, as much as I appreciate you giving me this mask and all, I _really_ have got to get going. I'm doing this for Keral Keep and Keral Keep alone, so I actually want to make a good impression."

"I'll accompany you," Gideon offered immediately. A little _too_ quickly for Chandra's liking.

"You. . . You're here to _babysit_ me!" Chandra said, sounding wounded. "You _did_ have ulterior motives! You. . . you _thragtusk herder_!" she cried in frustration, then turned on one foot and began to march back to the main street.

"Yes, I am," he said, matching her pace. "Well, no, not _babysit_, persay. But I'm here to make sure you behave yourself and –"

"I can 'behave myself' when I want to! If I wanted to _not_ 'behave myself,' then I'd have done that a long time ago!"

"It's not like you didn't see this coming. . ."

"Oh, because _knowing_ I'm being taken advantage of makes it okay. Gotcha."

"Chandra, please. Just look at it this way – I'm going to be following you whether you like it or not. So you might as well make it pleasant for _one _of us. Plus, you might actually enjoy the company."

"Yeah, I'm _really_ going to have fun with a living pair of handcuffs," she grumbled, but Gideon could tell she was beginning to give in.

"You could be my 'date' to the masquerade," he added playfully.

"I'd rather go on a 'date' with Beleren," she shot back, but she found herself wanting to smile.

"Ouch! Chandra, my lady, you _wound_ me," he said melodramatically, even breaking his stony façade for a smile.

At this point, they were out in the street, ready to continue their journey to Orovos's ceremony. With an expression of grandeur, he held out his arm, and she reluctantly took it. Gideon grimaced as she dug her fingers in a _lot_ tighter than was natural or, more importantly, comfortable.

He glanced down at her, noting her smug smirk.

"_Subtle_ revenge is not your thing, is it?" He asked through his teeth, trying not to show her that he was bothered by it.

"Why go for subtlety when open aggression is so much more fun?" she quipped.

"More like 'passive aggression,'" he corrected. "Regular aggression, by your definition, would be blowing me up as opposed to simply causing my arm slight discomfort."

"What do you mean I'm causing you slight discomfort?" she asked innocently, eyes wide.

Gideon sighed, choosing not to dignify that with an answer.

_Alright,_ Chandra reluctantly thought to herself, _this might actually be kind of fun. . . maybe._


	9. Chapter 9

"This. Is _awful_." Chandra leaned in and whispered to Gideon, who was watching the front of the room attentively.

Well, watching the front of the room as well as he could. The feast hall was about ten notches higher than "packed." There were people _everywhere_. All well-dressed, all arrogant, and all under the impression that they deserved to see the ceremony more than anyone else in the hall. Some stood, some kneeled, others held dainty telescopes to catch a better glimpse of their new leader.

There were hundreds of rows of chairs in the room—the only sections of floor that weren't taken up by spectators were the three aisles. The left and right aisles, along the wall, were lined by guards in white armor trimmed with gold. The center aisle remained empty. The room itself was decorated lavishly with ribbons and tapestries, all depicting Orovis' crest: a white sun (_Typical_, Chandra thought) positioned behind the image of a golden lion standing proudly. On top of his mane rested a silver crown. Each spire of the crown depicted the remaining four mana symbols (red, blue, black, green). Even the chairs upon which they sat were painted gold and white, and into the head of the backrest of each chair was carved the lion wearing the crown.

Chandra scoffed at the arrogance of the crest, and had remarked to Gideon that this guy's ego might even rival Walbert's. Gideon shushed her and reminded her that every type of magic user believed that that theirs was the best kind, and Orovis' crest said nothing of his character.

_Still_, she thought, _someone willing to hold a ceremony this huge for himself while there are people out there starving is deplorable._

She stayed silent, however, and irritably blew a piece of hair out of her face.

They'd been at the ceremony for three hours now, and she could tell she wasn't the only person who was becoming restless. The room had become hot and humid with human sweat—nobility or peasant, sweat was not an odor that Chandra liked to tolerate.

"Is it almost over?" she asked, leaning into Gideon again.

"Shush!" he hissed, shooting her an annoyed look.

_She's right, I really _am_ babysitting her, _he thought to himself.

They couldn't hear anything from their position towards the back. However, they caught a glimpse of Orovis as he passed him on his (long) walk down the center aisle to the front of the room.

_That was three hours ago!_ Chandra lamented to herself, rolling her eyes.

Orovis was much younger than Chandra expected –replacing the ancient, white-haired men that normally led the Plane of Regatha was a man in his late-forties, with light brown hair and a closely trimmed beard. The lighter brown color of his hair barely camouflaged the shocks of grey that had begun to appear around his face and in his beard. He wore white armor, like the guards, with golden trim. His cloak, however, set him apart from the common guard - it was a vibrant scarlet, also trimmed with gold. On his head rested a thick golden circlet that met at the center of his forehead in a sharp 'V.'

Chandra's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rush of noise as the people who were still seated began to stand again.

"What's going on, now?" she asked Gideon eagerly, hoping the ceremony was finally over.

"The procession out of here," Gideon replied, sounding almost as relieved as Chandra. "Then, my lady, we dance." Chandra made a face at him, but didn't reply.

The procession, however, was far from the freedom Chandra expected. The front rows were dismissed first, and slowly (oh so slowly) were the back rows released. It was a good hour before Chandra and Gideon even got to the aisle, which was so crowded, that it was another forty-five minutes before they finally made it to the courtyard.

People milled to-and-fro with the energy that only sitting for hours on end can bring. They whispered conspiratorially amongst each other about Orovis, mostly admiring his elegance and grandeur, which Chandra noted with a scowl.

"You'd think they'd be more concerned about how he _rules_ than about what he _wears_," she scoffed, looking at Gideon for support.

"They're hoping he's better than Walbert," Gideon said, looking down at her disapprovingly. "They're excited. Let them talk about frivolous things today –it's a day of celebration, not forboding. Judge not, Chandra, lest you be judged as well."

"You sound like Mother Luti," Chandra retorted, still examining the crowds of people.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Gideon said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"In this case, it is. What are people going to judge me for, anyway? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want one of your inane, snide replies."

"Inane, snide replies? That sounds more like your jurisdiction, lady."

"Oh, shut up," she said, folding her arms and shooting an exaggerated glare at him.

At that, Gideon laughed. His laughter was deep and clear, though there was a gruffness to it that made it obvious laughter was not an action he was familiar with.

"What's so _funny_?!" she spit, trying to hide her surprise.

"Nothing, nothing," he purred, already calm and composed. The only sign that there had ever been any laughter at all was the half-grin on his face.

"Don't you make me regret letting you tag along with me," she warned.

"'Letting me,'' he replied dryly. "As if you had any choice."

"Life is all about choices, actually," she said matter-of-factly. "I _chose_ not to blow you to smithereens when you claimed I needed a babysitter. I _chose_ not to carve my name into one of those expensive-looking lion chairs we sat in. And I'm _choosing_ to speak to you, even though you're _really_ beginning to piss me off."

"Well you being angry isn't a choice. You can't help it. So there's one huge lack of choice that affects your entire life. Am I correct?"

"That's not—No, I-Don't you have a masquerade to go to or something?" she said irritably.

"Actually, both of us do. Shall we be off?"

"It doesn't start until evening."

"Well how about dinner?"

"Dinner _and_ a dance? Jura, this is moving _waaayyyy_ too fast for me," she said sarcastically, putting her hands up.

"Oh, shut up," he said, mimicking her earlier. She glared at him, but took his arm anyway as they left the courtyard to the main streets of the city.

Neither of them noticed the small faerie that flitted through the gates behind them, invisible to all but one lone figure, hidden in a crowd of boisterous lords.


End file.
